


Witch and demon

by Kujaku



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-26 19:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12564396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujaku/pseuds/Kujaku
Summary: Collection of works for the tumblr 2017 Jehanparnasse collection.Apparently I've created another AU I'll never write, go me.





	1. Chapter 1

Day 1 : Magic

\- You really shouldn’t be out here alone. You know the stories.  
\- I do.   
\- And yet you still came? What a brave little witch. Or a stupid witch, since you know the stories.  
\- I also know that you won’t hurt me.

Well, that wasn’t the first time the figure on the treestump had heard an answer like that (the bones under the forest floor were a testimony of all the people he’d seen) but he was bored, and the witch was a curious gift under their black hat and tendrils of red hair, and their mismatched eyes that seemed too old.  
A moment of talk would hardly matter in the long run.  
\- I won’t hurt you, you say? That is a very presumptuous thing to imagine.  
\- You won’t hurt me. I know the stories.  
\- As you keep saying. But I know the stories as well, I shaped them.

Words. Always words. They poured out of him strangely that day, as if trying to convince, to make believe, instead of merely entrancing. This witch was hardly different from the others, what made him want to say so much?   
\- I know the stories, little witch. I know each and every word, I could tell you the ones that never made it out of the poets’ minds, the ones that died in their lips when I kissed them. The ones that were so hideous that they were erased from time and memory. I could tell you of all those stories, but would you even listen? Or are you here like all the others, for the thrill of the hunt and the finality of death? 

The witch said nothing for a while, the only sound the forest wind and the soft chimes of iron bracelets. And then they gave a beautiful smile, at last decided.   
\- I want to hear the stories you keep. I want to hear everything. About you.   
\- About me?   
\- All I know of you comes of the tales, but I know they don’t speak truth all the time.   
Off came the hat, laid on the ground soft as a caress.   
\- You are right, if course. I am here for the thrill.   
Off came the iron bracelets, and a smile at the realization in the silent figure’s eyes.   
\- And also for the finality of death. Sweet death in your arms.   
At last the witch stood, naked and inviting, the swirling tattoos of eldritch light pulsing slowly. No room for shyness or shame, a single movement and a whispered word, and the heavy iron chains around the dark figure on the treestump fell to the ground in silence, the magic bursting out from the witch like a summer storm.

Freed from his bonds of eternity, the figure remained an instant still as a rock before leaping towards his   
(master? saviour? lover?)   
rescuer and encircling him.   
It was the most intimate of touches, skin against skin, hands on throats and on stomachs and between legs. Permission had been given. Heady moans were swallowed and breathed in like life-giving air, the magic crackling and touching and warming everything.

*

Morning came  
(again? had it ever been morning ever before?)   
and the rays of sunlight moved lazily over the figures entwined on the forest floor. They slept, content, satiated, until birdsong woke them.   
No words came, just a slow awakening, their bodies still humming.   
Until at last the witch brushed a messy black coil of hair from the demon’s face and kissed him as soft as a petals touch.   
\- Will you come with me, Montparnasse? Help me tell the stories that never left your mind? The stories that will not die on my lips or be forgotten?   
\- For you, and only for you, Jehan. I will.


	2. Acceptance

Montparnasse never moved. When Jehan woke in the mornings, the demon would be sitting at the window, looking at the outside. And when Jehan came home in the evenings or late at night, even just before dawn, Montparnasse hadn't moved.  
Not once had the witch seen him move. Not once had he come down from his chair. And he hadn't eaten, drank or slept in days.  
(not to mention anything else)  
Jehan knew he shouldn't be worried; Montparnasse was a demon, a creature not bound by laws of nature or logic or even most magic. But when the black-eyed being hadn't seemed to move for over a fortnight, Jehan knew something had to happen. 

It was pitch black outside, only the stars giving a hint of light. Jehan crept out of his bed and walked towards the main room, wrapped up in his cloak. As ever, Montparnasse was sitting at the window, still as a stone, head turned towards the outside. If he heard the witch approach, he made no show of it. Not even when Jehan leaned against him.  
\- What do you see, Montparnasse?  
\- Explain?  
\- Out there. What do you see to be here all the time? There must be something exceptional that I can't see for you to be so mesmerised by it.   
\- You can't see it, that's true.   
Montparnasse spoke in a low tone, a hushed whisper. If Jehan had expected them, he might have heard unshed tears.  
\- I see freedom. I see liberty. I see everything that I have been denied for so long.  
\- Then why haven't you moved? Why do you stay here day and night? I'm not keeping you prisonner, I don't have the power for that and we both know it. I don't understand why you haven't left this spot since we came home.

Softly Jehan put his hand on the demon's shoulder, expecting a flinch. But Montparnasse didn't move, yet again, and his skin was a warm and inviting as that first night.   
(Jehan still ached for those burning kisses. It had been a week - only a week - and still he could feel them nipping at his neck and his thighs.)  
And Montparnasse covered the witch's hand with his, flickering energy as both their magics met.  
\- Don't you understand, little witch?   
\- You know I don't.   
\- I look outside every day and every night at the freedom that was stolen from me, and I have to remind myself that it's true. It's real. I no longer have chains or shackles, and I have to accept that.   
\- "Accept"?  
\- When one has been a prisoner for as long as I have, reality is different. I have to accept that my reality has changed. As I must accept that you are the one who changed it.

At last Montparnasse wrapped his arms around the witch and pulled him into an embrace, seeking out the touch of his lips. Then he smirked, a truely demonic sight.  
\- I think I will like my new reality, Jehan.


	3. Haunted

\- Where are you taking me?

It was the first time he'd been out of the witch's house since they'd arrived, the first time he'd been able to touch the air and smell the moon without the heavy chains around his wrists and ankles. In silence, he walked next to Jehan, looking perfectly conspicuous in the black shroud that manifested itself like a second skin.   
(and if certain parts of the shroud curled around Jehan's arm, well...it could have just been a trick of the light)

\- Jehan, where are you taking me?  
\- Oh, sorry. I wanted to show you somewhere important to me. Somewhere I can just let my mind wander and be at peace. I thought you would like it.   
\- Why would you show me your secret place?  
\- Because you're important to me, Montparnasse. I want to chase the ghosts from around you, and I know that you have many.  
\- I'm a demon. Of course I have ghosts around me. You might even say that I have...demons.   
The joke garnered silence, from both parties. Montparnasse couldn't believe he'd made one, and Jehan was trying to find the proper response.   
\- The stories never said that you had a sense of humour.   
\- I don't recall ever having one. But like you said, the stories don't tell all the truth. 

They'd arrived in the middle of a glade, and when Jehan spoke a soft word, the trees lit up, the grass glimmered and the river seemed to have taken the very silver of the moon. Moths made of starlight came to flutter around the two men, and Jehan smiled at the looked that had come into Montparnasse's ink-black eyes.  
\- The stories don't tell all the truth, I know. So tell me. Speak to me of your ghosts and your demons, let me help you get rid of them. Let the healing magic of this place be the starting point, and speak to me. What haunts you?   
\- Who.   
A lifetime, an eternity of bitterness dripped from that one word, and in an instant the demon remembered   
(pain hate loneliness pain pain pain terror help me)  
everything.  
\- He lured me and caught me. Long ago, when the world was new. Trapped me with promises of power and glory. I was a child by demon years, I still am, and I believed him, like a fool.  
\- The tales say that you were the one who bewitched him. That he outsmarted you and escaped with his life, leaving you trapped to expiate your sins.  
\- He left me to die because I would not give him everything he wanted. Do you believe me ?   
\- I believe you. Why would you lie?   
\- I'm a demon.  
\- You're a child. And I can see him.

Softly, Jehan reached out and brushed Montparnasse's cheek, not flinching away from the demon's all-black gaze. Suddenly eldritch light flickered in the witch's eyes, turning them unseeing and preternatural, boring into the demon's very mind.  
\- I can see him laughing in your mind. I can hear his words and hear your screams. I can see your truth and your demons, and I can hear your soul cry out for help. He haunts you, Montparnasse. Let him go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking this back for the 2018 tumblr jehanparnasse collection. I really like this AU, so please enjoy :)

Opposition 

Early one morning, a time after Jehan had rescued the black-eyed demon from the enchanted forest, the witch awoke to find the bed empty. It was cold, Montparnasse had probably been up for hours already, and Jehan hadn't even felt him move. It was still dark outside, winter still gripped the world, and he took his heavy cloak from beside the bed before slipping on a pair of socks and leaving the bedroom. 

He couldn't feel the demon anywhere. There was no sign of him, of his darkness, of his piercing gaze. Jehan was almost worried. Had 

(his)

the demon finally gone?

No trace of Montparnasse in the small kitchen, no trace of any demonic energy, only the smell of the rosemary and the soft vibrations of the crystals kept on the kitchen windowsill. Where was he? Where could he possibly be?

A cold wind came from the back door, from the garden. Jehan turned and went in that direction, his hand coming to rest on the handle. He could hardly make out anything, but with a little magical effort, a shape could be seen hesitantly sitting on the wall. Something was a little off, but Jehan couldn't quite put his finger on it.   
And then it hit him.

There was nothing demonic about the man in front of him. Nothing at all. There were no tendrils of black ether anywhere, and when Montparnasse finally turned, alerted to the witch's presence, Jehan noted that the demon's eyes were hardly more than a soft brown.

\- Go back to bed, Jehan.

\- I was looking for you...

\- Go back to bed. It's cold outside.

Even his voice was different. It was always his voice, but the undertones of violence and death were almost unheard.

Jehan felt shivers run up his spine, a rare thing. 

\- Montparnasse, what's happening? Are you - are you ill? 

\- Nothing like that, not at all. I am simply...weak. It will pass.

Montparnasse shifted slightly and Jehan didn't even wait a second, moving lightly across the garden to sit next to him; it was so strange to have a human Montparnasse and not the chilling demon that he usually was.

\- Weak? In what way?

\- You're a witch, can you not guess?

\- I don't know everything, so tell me.

The demon raised his eyes to the sky, looking for something that he couldn't see.

\- The opposition. It happens once every thirty years and lasts a week, the star of my birth in opposition with the moon. I have almost forgotten what it feels like to be powerless, to be weak, to be cold. Can you see it? Can you see my star?

\- Montparnasse... 

\- Look, with your witch's eyes. Look harder and tell me if you can see it...

Jehan gave a sigh and looked upwards as well, leaning against the demon as if to give him reassurance and warmth. He couldn't see anything, but then again, neither of them had ever thought they would. And it was a perfect excuse to simply stay one against the other under the early morning sky. Bit by bit the sun was rising and Jehan couldn't stop himself from stealing a kiss, his nose pressed against Montparnasse's cheek.

\- Come back to bed. I have a week to see what this powerless side of you is like.


	5. Chapter 5

Beauty

/Little witch, what is the most beautiful thing you've seen?/

Jehan remembers each time the world murmured that to him. He's been around but a little time, especially for one such as his kind, but he's seen things that words cannot always describe. He remembers each moment he's been brought to tears by a single second in the eternity around him.

/Little witch.../

His magic is beautiful. He loves using it and loves seeing in unfurl from his hands like so many iridiscant filaments. He loves his glowing tattoos that cover his entire body and the way his eyes shine with an eldritch gleam when he taps into his energy.

/Tell me, little witch.../

He's seen colours that don't exist. He's seen faery portals open with blasts of ultramarine and celadon, the cinerious tendrils creeping into the ether. He's seen lords and ladies, fae and vampires, all that this world can offer in the way of glamour and illusion and exquisiteness. He cannot even fond words to describe all of it.

/What is the most beautiful thing.../

He's heard words that have touched his soul like raindrops on a wasteland. Mermaids have sung to him, the stars have sung to him. When he walks in the forests, he hears words spoken in a language that no-one knows exists. And when he whispers his magics, they shine in the world like fireflies.  
All around him he sees beauty.

/Tell me.../

There is beauty in everything he sees, in everything he does and everything he believes. But today, this very instant when his eyes fall upon the lithe shape half-hidden under the covers that the answer comes unbidden.  
Montparnasse is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. No matter that his eyes are brown and no longer jet-black. No matter that the claws are now fingers. No matter that all that was demonic has morphed into something softer, something warmer.   
Something that Jehan wishes he could keep forever.


End file.
